


And Your God Shall Be My God

by venusinthenight



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Clones, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Femslash February, Oral Fixation, Porn Battle, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Fantasy, Twincest, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusinthenight/pseuds/venusinthenight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in recovery from her puncture wound, Helena dreams of Sarah. Set between the end of 1x04 and the start of 1x07 (including a mention of a scene within the latter), before they learn they’re twin sisters.</p><p>Written for Porn Battle XV. Prompts used: hunger, fixation, Bible. Also in time for Femslash February.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Your God Shall Be My God

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: brief mentions of self-harm/body modification, unrealized twincest, religious imagery

In body, Helena is on a docked boat somewhere in the city, asleep.

Her mind, however, is somewhere else, fixated on someone else.

Sarah.

That dirty little copy-cop that put a rebar in her side.

That woman who chose to help her escape the police rather than let them take her away.

That woman Helena feels inexplicably connected to, unlike those other abominations out there in the world.

Helena’s mind has retreated back to the convent where she had been raised until the Proletheans got to her. She is in a small garden, her favourite place to be as a little girl. The dullness of the city, as well as the dropping temperatures, have been exchanged for spring warmth and all its newness, its colours, its renewal of life. The darkness of night is no more; the light of day has taken over.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can spot a familiar person, with her dark hair, coat, jeans, boots, everything but skin, sitting on the grass with her back against the outer chapel wall, cross-legged, looking at nothing in particular.

“Sarah?”

Sarah looks up at Helena as she approaches. “So you’re why I’m at this bloody place.”

“You don’t like it here.”

“No!” Sarah scoffs. “Last place I wanna be at is a fucking church.”

“I can make it more pleasing to you.” Helena kneels beside Sarah, slowly, seductively, clear in her intentions.

“You mean us? Here? Bit odd, innit?”

“I’m hungry. But not for food. And I think this is a good place. God can smile on us.”

Helena watches as Sarah furrows her brow in confusion. “I eat you out,” Helena continues, “in the chapel, at the altar. I worship and bless your pussy.” She says ‘pussy’ in a drawn-out way, like she’s trying to be sexy about it in the best way she knows how.

Sarah laughs. To Helena’s ears, the laugh reminds her of her own laugh, something that hasn’t escaped her lips or throat in many years, since before she became a trained assassin for the Prolethean cause. There is a purity to Sarah’s laughter, Helena thinks, and it’s so beautiful, as is Sarah.

“I want to worship and bless your pussy,” Helena repeats, with a smile on her face. “We must connect, further. Deeper.”

She leans in, face straightening up, and kisses Sarah on the lips. In reality, Sarah would probably threaten her in some way, but this twisted and more idealized version of Sarah in Helena’s dream world doesn’t. Instead, she reciprocates.

Once the kiss breaks, Helena leads Sarah inside the chapel. There are no lights on, no candles to illuminate the stone grey walls. The only light coming in is from the sun trickling through the stained glass windows, all of which have a circular section featuring what is presumably an open Bible. The pews are all an unwelcoming variation of oak with no padding on either the seat or the back, hymnals carefully placed on random spots. There are no kneelers to be seen. At the front is a small platform with an organ to one side and the pulpit on the other. The empty space in the middle is where, ultimately, Helena leads Sarah.

Helena kisses Sarah again. “Remove your clothes,” the former instructs. “I need to see you as God brought us into the world.”

“I’m not regressing to a baby,” Sarah deadpans. Helena can’t erase all of Sarah’s essence in her world, and Helena adores her sarcastic bite and humour anyway.

“Naked. I must see you naked.”

“Oh.”

Slowly, Sarah removes her all-dark clothing -- coat, boots, jeans, socks, underwear, long-sleeve shirt, tank top, and bra. As she does, Helena removes her white dress to reveal nothing else underneath it. When Sarah is finished, Helena studies her, looking up and down her body multiple times, even walking around it to see her back. It’s just like her own body, Helena thinks, except Sarah doesn’t have self-inflicted angel wings on her back. Because Sarah isn’t an angel. But Sarah isn’t a demon, either. Helena doesn’t quite know what Sarah is. She just knows the connection she has to her, that she must deepen, on a physical and spiritual level.

When she is face-to-face with Sarah again, she gives her another kiss and squishes her breasts, just enough to make Sarah squeal a little. “You’re sensitive there, yes?” Helena asks.

Sarah nods, gulping, her eyes wide with surprise.

Helena grins a knowing grin, the kind she had grinned when she had seen the photos of her hideout in the police station, photos of the stick figures on the wall. The grin that says she’s proud of what she has done. She slowly kneels and coaxes Sarah down with her, and then prompts Sarah to lie down. “You’re such a beautiful girl,” says Helena, “just like all the others I’ve killed that look like you. But you’re not like them. You’re much more purer.”

Helena begins planting kisses on Sarah’s chest -- one in the groove between each collarbone, one just above her navel, and one on top of each of her nipples; a cross pattern. She moves back down Sarah’s body, in between her legs, and gazes in awe of Sarah’s cunt. She licks it slowly, bottom to top. And again. And again. Repeatedly. Every time with the reverence reserved for Sunday Mass. Once in a while she nuzzles her nose and mouth on Sarah’s increasing wetness, purring her approval, while listening to Sarah’s breathing deepen.

“‘Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God,’” quotes Helena from the book of Ruth, eyes shut, a finger lazily stroking up and down Sarah’s vulva.

“Just get on with it, yeah?” Sarah breaks in.

“‘Where thou diest I will die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.’”

Helena opens her eyes again and returns to work on Sarah’s pussy, alternately licking it and stroking it with more purpose than before. Once Helena decides Sarah is sufficiently aroused, she starts sucking on and licking Sarah’s clit while inserting middle and ring fingers of her left hand into Sarah’s uterus to pull in and out. Her finger work is slow at first, but then it accelerates as Sarah’s moans become louder and more frequent. Helena moves her mouth away from Sarah’s clit and shoves her fingers forcefully inside Sarah to make her come. In that moment, Helena visualizes Sarah projecting from her body, like she would imagine a spirit ascending to Heaven does, and floating in the air weightless, her form taking on a standing position, hands outstretched, palms turned upward, reminiscent of a painting of the Virgin Mary. Helena removes her fingers from Sarah’s body on the ground and lifts both her hands, closing her eyes, in gratefulness and devotion.

* * *

After she wakes up, Helena tells Tomas she wants to see “the impostor” -- Sarah -- again. She doesn’t explain why, but she still has the image of Sarah emerging out of her body as the Virgin Mary embedded in her brain, like the angel wings she has etched into her back. Helena is Ruth; Sarah is Naomi. Where Sarah stays, so does she.

**Author's Note:**

>  _And Ruth said: “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.”_ ~ Ruth 1:16-17, 21st Century KJV


End file.
